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Author Blog - Mo Foster

ON SMILING

I spent a lot of my life snarling in public. There are, or were, photographs of me at weddings, an angry little girl, tummy and bottom lip protruding into the world. Knees clamped together - all charkas closed down if you believe in such things - always with a bow in my hair and wearing some very feminine confection made by mum. To be fair there were also pictures of me in happy disarray on a donkey at the seaside or up a tree. At school I glared out of formal photos, yet I was a clown in the classroom, a smart arse sniggerer and disruptor of lessons that bored me - a swat at the ones I liked.

Really the seventies were a very good time for me, I became a feminist and it seemed quite acceptable to hit the world with a nice grim face, in public anyway, because we were aware of vast unfairnesses. In fact it was the time of the anti nazi league and blatant racism so a grim visage was appropriate. It was also a time of great liberation for me and I probably laughed more then than I ever had before. I enjoyed the company of women enormously.

I grew up wanting to be a boy - mainly for the clothes and for the sheer convenience of peeing upright - which I tried with messy results. My brother got a better deal in both liberty and pocket money, I felt cheated. But somehow it was a given that going out with a male was preferable to going out with your mates, so if your friend got a date with a boy and dumped you that was ok.

Things have changed in this department and I have taken up smiling big time. Partly I think because I live in an area where few women speak English and smiling is my main communication, I limit my smiling, mainly to the female population and I hardly snarl at all. I enjoy being smiled at and partly because I have a dog. In an area where the only other dogs are large grim creatures so people cower at my small terrier- and she reciprocates by running in terror from squealing kids - so a reassuring smile is part of my equipment.

Anyway I take my smile everywhere with me. In Moscow it was received with stony lack of comprehension, in Berlin I got unwarranted smiles from most people and in London a mixed reaction. It pleases me to smile and though it could be seen as sign of weakness, I don't care. I shall smile with vigour but if you don't reciprocate I shan't mind, and don't be fooled, the snarl is still intact and fully operational!

Ps. This week I have much to smile about because my 1st novel 'a blues for shindig' has been chosen as part of the new Exclusively Independent list. I am delighted and look forward to blagging and putting myself about to promote my book - along with the other writers I hope!

Author post: Mo Foster

My friend is in moscow where women's day is a public holiday and women are given flowers. I was feeling a mild chagrin about our neglect in Britain and the fact that I was supposed to be reading in Berlin and I had cancelled due to the thought of jetsave one armed terrifying me. But then BBC4 came up trumps with programmes about the women's movement in the seventies (omitting much). Then a play about evil bankers (wankers?) with the divine Sarah Parish who has the most gorgeous gob in the business - then greenham common was 'done' , (with the ubiquitous Fay Weldon putting in her 2 pennorth irritating as ever bless 'er)then grunwick. Oh frabjous day! None of these programmes was perfect from my point of view, nothing ever is but until I make my own progs I will shut up!

I went to grunwick once and amid the usual fear of being trampled underfoot, it was inspiring to a serial protestor like me. I went to greenham many times on large protests to embrace the base and with a mate who camped there every weekend - I would slope off home, I was never a camping kind of gal. The only time I stayed for longer than a night - 3 days at green gate - nobody spoke to us (2 women a child and my dog in a 2 man tent) except to say that my dog was unacceptable as he was intact in the balls department. I offered to cut em off but mercifully nobody took me up on it. The soldiers chucked stones at our tent all night to wake the dog who woke us. On the third night people spoke to us and we succumbed to the blandishments of the boozer. Then a trudge back in thick mud and not a taxi in sight. I always found greenham horribly oppressive - the vibes y'know. But I admire the women who stuck it out and I believe that it was a successful campaign BECAUSE it was women only. It did change many women's lives too.

I digress yet again back to TV: then, late, a programme about the first African woman president in Liberia, it looked like she had her work cut out but, having stayed riveted all evening ( I usually kip as soon as I sit ) me and the dog went to bed, I expect it will be repeated, I hope so.

I reckon that's my licence fee well covered.

http://loudwomen.blogspot.com/

Mo

Author Post: Mo Foster

HOME FOR THE ONE ARMED NON HERO

http://loudwomen.blogspot.com/2010/03/home-for-one-armed-non-hero.html

So here I am in splendid isolation the better to write, with my dog for company - though she is a late riser and doesn't show until after 9. I am still one armed though doing my physio and have slung the sling except when I go out,. 4 the sympathy factor - has not yet worked but am hopeful. I discovered a djebella that I got in tangier, adjusting trousers is another thing hard to do with one hand a, along with cutting up food, putting on a beret, picking up dog turds, hanging out washing, peeling spuds and typing. I was very disappointed nobody noticed, was reduced to drawing attention to my exotic wear - somebody mentioned cultural imperialism so I shut up,but I will not be put off.. I have also recycled a few skirts that fit - unfortunately I seem to have become completely tubular so they tend to descend -very slowly but with the inexorable power of gravity, inducing the most godawful feelings of insecurity...so either I buy braces or dump them. I do intend to return to finish my previous WHOOPEE blog and tell about the marvellous meeting I began to speak of. been tuned in to radio 4, it murmurs in the background a lot of stuff about venables the 10 year old killer, emotive stuff too. I think it would be very surprising if, after years of incarceration he had emerged intact - but what do I know....however I was in prison in the 60s and though I met some lovely women I can't say it equipped me for a glittering or dull career, on the contrary I was scared of traffic and institutionalised after 4 months so imagine how traumatised a child would be after many years!!!

Hurray my first exclamation marks for weeks!!!

Mo

Author Blog - Mo Foster

ONE ARM BANDIT

I have not deserted my post but, after having a plastic shoulder inserted, I have been ejected back into the world the very next day armed with enough pain killers to finish off a shire horse. I am depleted somewhat in energy. I expect grumpiness to see me through the minor annoyance of being totally dependent on my friend for nearly everything from cutting up my food to adjusting my knickers. It is embarrassing, after yelling vigorously at somebody, to have to ask them to please put your socks on. And I can't do exclamation marks; even with my elbow because it is all strapped into a complex sling which I have to wear for six weeks. So woe is me and my friend has taken to playing extended games of solitaire and gnashing her teeth.... what can this mean. Also manic laughter and deep exasperated sighs have been heard by me along with curses. Is this paranoia I ask myself? I shall watch those painkillers.

Mo

Mo Foster is the author of the fantastic A Blues for Shindig

Author blog - Mo Foster

ON BLOGGING

I have been threatening myself with blogging for years now - in fact my original publisher set me up with a blog some five years ago. I evaded it. I must explain my relationship with my computer: to me it is a beloved enemy, one that I have little control over but one that I have this love/hate relationship with. I use it as a sort of word processing tool with email facility. I love my emails and Google, I am happy to download maps, even though I have a problem reading maps.

My computer is the one I scuttle to every morning with a fervour that could be seen as unhealthy. I like to get my words down and in fact I can hardly write in longhand any more. However, my brain does not absorb computer knowledge, it closes down like an obstinate clam at the sight or sound of computer speak. The simplest instruction is lost on me and I feel my mind going off whistling into the distance like an errant teenager - 'I don't care to hear you!' it whistles. 'This is not for me' it sings. It puts it hands over its ears and scuttles off.

This week I decided that I must do a sneaky move on my mind, come upon it from a new angle, so I got a very efficient, competent woman in to 'teach' me how to blog. We were startled, my brain and me but some knowledge seeped through. As soon as she left I panicked, went onto overdrive or underdrive and was sure I could never do this. All the stuff she had told me just flew away and I was back at school in a maths class, baffled with brain in flummox mode and a tantrum building up. Then I would draw cartoons of women, hand them round and disrupt the class. (I got a result, I was allowed to cut maths and do art instead - a result for the teacher too)

Now, I could hardly stage a one-woman rebellion, there was nobody about to witness it. I badly wanted to hold my teacher responsible but common sense walked in and prevailed and I got a grip. I telephoned my teacher' and she was patience incarnate, not engaging in my confusion and with humour and kindness sent me emails that I could refer to. In fact I am quite capable of looking at a piece of paper with exceedingly clear instructions and my panic doesn't allow me to see them. I squeak in terror and have reduced my Internet provider to near tears when she tried to explain how to get my router organised. I am sure there is a word for this malaise and I refuse to believe it is STUPID,

I shall continue with this process!!

Mo

Mo Foster is the author of the brilliant 'A Blues for Shindig'.

Mo Foster in the Guardian

Mo Foster's has published a really powerful article in he Guardian today about coping with her husband's death:

"It seemed to me that I looked away for a moment, and when things came back into focus Sid, my husband of 44 years, was gone. The fact that we had not lived together for 30 years seemed not to dull the shock.

It wasn't like that at all of course. He had contracted diabetes when he was in a TB sanatorium in his 20s, so he'd had the condition for more than 50 years, and I sometimes thought that is what defined his life. He was not the kind of casual diabetic who takes his disease lightly; he followed a strict diet regime, weighed out his food carefully, tested his blood sugar regularly and, for the most part, kept it under control. He always had a store of sweets and Mars bars for emergencies.

After he died in March, as I prepared his clothes for the charity shop, I found small bundles of glucose sweets and a Mars bar or two in every jacket pocket. I was curiously touched.

It hadn't always been like that. When we moved away from London in the 60s, after we had been married for six years, I discovered The Molly Goldberg Jewish cookbook and The Cordon Bleu Cookery Course in the same year. He gained a stone in weight - it nearly killed him, he said. Then the strict regime came back into force and my adventures into cooking luscious food ended."

To read the article in full click here

Order your copy of A Blues for Shindig now - £7.99 

Lucy

Mo Foster event coming up - 5th Nov

Mo Foster, author of the fantastic A Blues for Shindig will be speaking at North Kensington library next Wednesday 5th November from 6:30-8pm. Mo will be speaking with local historian Tom Vague about the history of Notting Hill and North Kensington. Mo lived in the Notting Hill area in the late fifties and early sixties and will be talking about life in the local area during these times.

Collect a FREE TICKET from your library Enquiry Desk

For further information tel: 020 7361 3010
www.rbkc.gov.uk/libraries

Order your copy of A Blues for Shindig now - £7.99 

Lucy

Author Post: Mo Foster... a rather topical one!

 

I came downstairs at about six thirty, opened the living room door and saw the light from the open fridge in the kitchen, also a blast of fresh air. I turned on the light in the living room and looked at my laptop, or rather where it should have been. Now there was a carving knife lying on the table where the computer should have been. And that was it, my black handled carving knife in solitary splendour. I did that thing where I made a search for the computer, cleared the table of papers in one sweep of my hand, tried to remember if I had left it in the car the night before, but I knew I hadn’t. I heard myself weeping, cursing, chuntering dreadful sounds of grief and despair. The bag I carry it in was gone too and all the wires and plugs to the internet. The dog came down from my bed and gave the room the onceover, made a growl or two and retired to the front room sofa, she is not an early morning creature, not a guard dog either apparently. I think I was banging my head on the furniture by then and no dog likes to see her owner making an idiot of herself so I didn’t blame her.

The kitchen windows were both open so that’s the way he got in and as the overhead light doesn’t work he must have used the fridge for light. He had also left a milk container on the side. Empty. The drawers, with my passport, some money and other valuable documents were untouched.

I telephoned the police, they said they would come within an hour and I grieved over my folly - I had ten years work on that lap top. An entire novel, reams of poems, two or three plays and a collection of short stories plus my journal, very little of it backed up. Besides which my memory stick is in the carrying bag. Clever eh? I spend a few moments telling myself what an idiot I am and by now it is light and I phone a mate to print me some posters to put out locally. He promises to bring them on his way to work.

The police arrive and they agree that I am an idiot and also with my own assumption that the thief is a crack addict who will flog my laptop for twenty quid as soon as possible. The empty milk bottle is a dead giveaway, crack addicts are compulsive milk drinkers apparently, you learn something every day don’t you?

My friend brings the posters and I leave the police to it and I hit the street with my dog. It is nearly eight by now and a guy I kind of know is making his way to the offy and I mention my laptop and he assures me he can get me one in a day. It takes me a while to convince him that I want my own one back and I hear that a guy was round at their house at four am. Offering one cheap. Great. I know that if it leaves the area I will definitely never see it again. I am looking for sites for my posters when I think of going to see a guy who runs a kind of open house. I knock on the door and am telling him my tale of woe when a woman I know from my voluntary work with working women giving out condoms greets me ‘Hello darling you’re up early!’ I tell her my problem and she says she was also offered my laptop and will chase the guy up. ‘I’ll get it back for you darling!’ she says, for a price. I go back to the house. To wait.

The police are jolly and friendly; they are led by a dynamic young woman who appears to have total control over the team. They tell me that the chances of getting my property back are a million to one, as are the chances of catching the thief. They shake their heads at my folly in not having locks on my windows and seem like nice men, though they are scornful of my poster idea. The lady cop is far more sympathetic to my loss of material but also holds out no hope of catching the thief and even less of getting my property back. I don’t mention the deal with the girl.

The next few hours are a torment, I finish up at the front window twitching the curtain and myself. Finally the girl comes back and takes me to the crack house that I have walked by every day with no idea of its purpose. I see my computer in its bag and can’t contain my joy! I kiss the man who runs the joint, he looks amazed and appalled, I kiss the girl who kisses me back, I give her the price we had agreed on and I scuttle home a delighted woman.

I telephone the police and tell them my computer has come back via a man I didn’t know and they come round to take it away for fingerprinting but the wonderful young policewoman says they can’t possibly take it away from me again so they come and dust it in my house, they bust the modem but who cares!

I got free locks on all my downstairs windows and a chain for my front door through an excellent scheme that offers this service to any victims of thievery, after the event of course! Some local young guys offered to kneecap the thief for me, I declined and I didn’t want to know who he was either, I probably know his mum and would just feel betrayed and feel I had to tell the police. So there are benefits to living in the same area for thirty years . I always suspected that it’s not what you know but who you know and this tends to prove me right, it is also a vindication of voluntary work.

I was nervous for a few days and cleaved unto the dog, poor creature, I worried unduly but I was soon back to my usual careless ways. I do back up my work now, mostly. This, I feel, was a lesson in back up discipline. Now where IS that memory stick??

Mo

Order your copy of A Blues for Shindig now - £7.99 

Author Post: Mo Foster

Today I was woken, again, by a cockerel! He begins his morning concerto at about 5 and continues for the entire morning. He comes into my garden to visit then takes off onto the back wall. I think he is an escapee from the last Sikh wedding celebration and he is a beautiful Rhode Island Red specimen. He is entirely welcome as far as I am concerned - may he survive for years. He looks fly enough. I give him food but he doesn’t touch it until I am indoors again when he snaffles it fast. The last visiting cockerel lived in our back yards for a couple of years, he was finally ‘rescued’ by the RSPCA when the guy next door grassed him up for flattening his flowers. He was removed in a crate. I was sad. I am in favour of rebels of all species. So, the inner city has wildlife.

It feels like a long time since I was published by Paperbooks, I was their first author (an accident). The fact that I only ever got off one blog can be explained by my sloth, and lack of computer skills. Mainly sloth. Now, driven half mad by the rigours of an impending house move and builders’ torment, and given the encouragement of an errant cockerel, blogging feels imperative. Plus I have been looking at both Legend and Paperbook sites and am definitely missing out.

In particular I would like to add to the debate about women reading in the bog. I don’t but my partner is an avid bog reader and she has been spotted engrossed in the labels on domestic cleaning goods when nothing else is available. So I expect women are as various in their lavatorial habits as are men.

The last Legend event I went to was an excellent evening and I look forward to meeting yet more writers at the launch of Sarah Ladipo Manyika’s novel ‘In Dependence’ on September 30th.

Mo

Order your copy of A Blues for Shindig now - £5.99 

***Update***

Full website available very shortly!